


The Game of Faces

by Kallypso



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Family, Family Drama, Gen, House Stark, Stark Sisters, The North Remembers (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 06:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16907964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kallypso/pseuds/Kallypso
Summary: A rewrite of the two arguments between Arya and Sansa in season 7. This time, not terrible!Arya finds Sansa's note and confronts her sister. They have left so much unsaid since they last saw each other in King's Landing. So much that still keeps them at a distance. Now is the time to be honest with each other.The first scene is from Arya's perspective. The second is from Sansa's. Some lines are kept from the canon, but very few. This was a challenge I made myself to keep the conflict between the sisters but make it more true to their characters and their relationship. Let me know how I did!





	The Game of Faces

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this is a rare one shot from me. It's cause I hate the Arya and Sansa arc in season 7 with a passion so...here we are. Fixing it with fanfic! Making characters actually talk to each other like real people. Enjoy!

She is standing where her mother and father once did, looking out over the courtyard. Looking out over the place where they used to play. Arya chose that spot for a reason...because she wants Sansa to remember their father well when she confronts her.

She knows that Littlefinger placed the scroll. She knows that Littlefinger wanted her to find it. What did he hope for, she wonders? Did he hope she might go to the northern lords and turn them against Sansa? Apparently, Littlefinger doesn’t know Arya very well. But that is not a surprise. She has changed a great deal from the little girl in King’s Landing.

She senses Sansa’s approach but she does not turn to face her. Instead she speaks. “Father used to watch us from up here,” she murmurs. “He didn’t say much. You probably don’t remember...you were usually inside knitting.”

Behind her, Sansa exhales. “I remember.”

Arya continues on, the memory becoming clear to her now. As clear as the courtyard before her, she can remember that day. “One time the boys were shooting arrows with Ser Rodrick. I came out here after and Bran had left his bow behind...just lying on the ground. Ser Rodrick would have cuffed him if he saw.”

Arya paces along the wall, her eyes fixed on the target. For a moment, she forgets about Sansa and why she asked her to come here. Because the memory is there and it hurts. “There was a single arrow left in the target. There was no one around, just like now. There was no one to stop me. So I started shooting. And every shot I had to go up there and get my one arrow, walk back and shoot it again. I wasn’t very good.” She pauses with the smallest smile. She used to be so useless in a fight. Such a long time ago that was.

“Finally, I hit the bullseye. Could have been the twentieth shot or the fiftieth, I don’t remember. But I hit the bullseye and I heard this.” She claps slowly, just like he did on that day. “I looked up and he was standing right here, smiling down at me. I knew what I was doing was against the rules, but he was smiling so I knew it wasn’t wrong. The _rules_ were wrong. I was doing what I was meant to be doing and he knew it.”

She pauses then, as the memory fades and reality sets back in. Because their father is gone. He has been gone for such a long time now, and it is becoming hard to remember his smile. “Now father is dead.” Her jaw clenches as she comes to the point. “And what did you do?”

For a long moment, Sansa doesn’t answer. She doesn’t seem to register what Arya said. When she does, she can only manage a confused: “What?”

Arya unfurls the scroll so that she can see. “That’s your pretty handwriting? Septa Mordane used to crack my knuckles because I couldn’t write as well as you.” She doesn’t give Sansa a chance to reply before she reads. “Robb. I write to you today with a heavy heart. Our good King Robert is dead, killed by wounds he took in a boar hunt--”

“You don’t have to read it, I remember.”

Arya does not stop. “Father has been charged with treason. He conspired with Robert’s brothers against my beloved Joffrey and tried to steal his throne. The Lannisters have been treating me well, and providing me with every comfort. I pray you, come to King’s Landing, swear fealty to Prince Joffrey and prevent any further strife between the great houses of Lannister and Stark.” She turns to face her sister. “Your faithful sister, Sansa.”

“They forced me to do it,” Sansa said.

“Did they?” Arya asks coolly. “With a knife to your throat?

“What do you think would have happened if I refused?” Sansa asked. “What would you have done in the same position?”

“Fought back. Refused. I would have died before betraying Father or Robb.”

“Yes you _would_ have died, Arya. They would have killed you if you fought. Or locked you in a dungeon until you went mad or beat you half to death.”

“Let them. I’m strong enough.” At the very least, she was strong enough now. She couldn’t speak to the girl she had been all those years ago. But she liked to think that she would have struggled.

“Well, I wasn’t!” Sansa snaps. “I was thirteen. I was scared. I wanted to protect our family and I was afraid if I resisted they would kill father.

“They did kill father. Whether you resisted or not, they killed him.”

“And I _tried_ to stop it.” Her sister’s eyes are glassy. “I tried whatever I could. I cooperated. I got down on my knees in front of Joffrey and begged for mercy. Did you hope that I might fight the whole capital by myself? Did you hope I might push away the executioner?” Her voice breaks. “I had to watch him die, Arya.

“So did I,” Arya counters, raising her voice to match Sansa’s. “I was there that day. I was standing in the crowd watching the whole time.”

“Were you?” Sansa grits her teeth. “And did _you_ do anything to stop it?”

Arya swallows hard. No. Yorick had stopped her. “I tried but--”

“You tried. I tried. We failed,” Sansa said. “Why do you have to punish me for it? You don’t think I hate myself enough for that day? You don’t think I _see it_ every time I close my eyes?”

Some of Arya’s control breaks then and she snaps back “Then _why?_ Why did you ever think Joffrey could be trusted? Or Cersei? I saw through them from the very beginning. I tried to tell you but you didn’t listen. You picked them over your family. You picked Joffrey over me. You _lied..._ ” Arya’s voice breaks on the word and she stops herself. Suddenly, this isn’t about father anymore. It was never truly about father. Arya remembers Sansa that day, on the platform, screaming and struggling with all of her might, and she knows that she is not to blame for their father’s death. But there are other things they never settled between them, and those things rise to the surface now. She turns away.

Sansa paused, seeming to realize that the topic has shifted. Her voice softens. “I lied...about the butcher’s boy. _”_ She pauses, gathering her thoughts. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have. At the time, all I wanted was for Joffrey to like me. I didn’t see...what he was.”

“I did,” Arya said quietly.

“Yes. You did. I know. And I was wrong. But I can’t...I’ve suffered so much for my mistakes. I can’t...” Sansa’s voice trembles as if she is trying to suppress tears. Arya can’t bring herself to look back. “In King’s Landing...I was surrounded by enemies. After father died, Joffrey made me stare at his head because it amused him. After Robb scored an important victory, he had his guards beat me in front of the entire court. They married me off to a Lannister and there was nothing I could do to stop it. _”_ She pauses. “Well, that’s not true. A few times, I thought about leaping from the highest window. I thought about taking Joffrey with me. Once, I almost pushed him over a ledge. A guard got in my way and I lost my chance. I regret that too.”

Slowly, Arya turns to look at her sister again. She isn’t lying. Arya knows she suffered a great deal. They both suffered a great deal.

“I...wouldn’t have survived for much longer,” Sansa murmurs at last. “If Lord Baelish hadn’t helped me out of King’s Landing, I would have been executed for Joffrey’s murder. And I wouldn’t be here.

Lord Baelish. Now they come back to the point. Arya curses herself for not bringing him up sooner. He’s the one who planted the note after all. “Lord Baelish...he’s the one who helped you escape?

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Sansa sighs. “He gives a lot of different answers. Sometimes it’s because he loved mother. Sometimes it’s because he loved me. I don’t think either of those things is the truth.”

“And do you trust him?”

Sansa doesn’t answer right away. She looks out over the courtyard. “No.”

“But you let him stay here? Why?” Arya asks. When Sansa doesn’t reply, she keeps speaking. “He worked with the Lannisters. I don’t know how much, but he met with Tywin Lannister at Harrenhal. I saw him.”

“Harrenhal? What were you doing there?” Sansa asks.

“I was a prisoner.”

“A prisoner with access to Tywin Lannister?”

“I was disguised as a boy and he took me as his cupbearer.”

Sansa’s jaw clenches and her anger seems to rise again. “And you cooperated?” she asks bitterly. “You didn’t fight back or kill him?”

“That’s not the point,” Arya mutters.

“Isn’t it?” Sansa asks. “You asked me why I didn’t fight back. Why I betrayed our family. You had access to the most powerful man in the seven kingdoms while he was fighting Robb and you did nothing?”

Arya doesn’t answer. She can’t answer. Because Sansa doesn’t know how right she is. Jaqen H’agar gave her three names and she wasted the first two on small people. She should have killed Tywin first. She has always regretted that she missed her chance and she still isn’t entirely sure why she didn’t take it.

In the silence, Sansa pulls back again. “I’m sorry. Cersei would love to see us fighting right now. It’s exactly what she would want.

“Cersei’s not the one who wants it. Littlefinger is.” Arya looks down at the scroll. “He planted this. He’s trying to stir up trouble. I’m not sure why yet. Maybe he’s afraid of me. Maybe he thinks you’re easier to manipulate.”

“I know how to handle Lord Baelish,” Sansa says.

“Do you?” Arya asks. “Because he’s still here and he’s still alive.” She pauses, studying Sansa closely. “You’ve convinced yourself he’s not a threat. That’s why he’s still dangerous. You think you can handle him. But then he does this.” She holds up the scroll, forcing Sansa to look at it. “Though I guess he didn’t do much. It is your words.”

Sansa raises her chin. “What will you do with it then?”

“I’m not sure,” Arya says. “Perhaps I’ll show it to the northern lords and let them decide. Lyanna Mormont is a young child too. Do you think she would approve of your excuses?”

Sansa does not flinch. “Show them then. You can tell them the story of your cup bearing days for Tywin Lannister while you’re at it.” The words sting and for a moment, Arya falls silent. “If Lord Baelish is playing me then he’s playing you too,” Sansa says. “He wanted to cause conflict between us. I suppose his trick worked.”

Arya’s jaw clenches. Then she turns to leave. That’s enough of this for today. She needs a chance to cool her anger. Anger can make people do terrible things...and she does not want to give Lord Baelish what he wants.

* * *

 

Part of Sansa does worry about scroll. She has been trying to keep the northern lords together in this dark time. She wants Jon to return, but she doubts whether or not he will. He went south to treat with a dragon after all.

If Jon dies, she will have to keep the north together, and the note jeopardizes all of that. So she steals into Arya’s room to look. It’s not smart, she knows. Arya probably is keeping the scroll on her. Still she must try.

She does not find the scroll. But she does find the faces.

She can tell from touching them that they are real and it makes her stomach churn. Her sister has always been a bit strange, but not the kind of person to keep human faces under her bed. What is their purpose? What does she use them for?

“Not what you were looking for?”

Sansa spins around to see Arya standing in the doorway. Her sister’s face is a mask as well. It almost frightens Sansa, but she tries not to show it.

“What are these?”

“You were looking for the note,” Arya says, seeing right through her in an instant. “If you did nothing wrong, what does it matter that I have it?”

“I’m trying to keep the north together,” Sansa says firmly. “That’s why it matters. Now _what_ are these faces?

“I got them while I was in Bravos,” she replies. “Training to be a faceless man.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Sansa murmurs.

“It means I got very good at killing.” Arya draws the dagger and flips it a few times between her fingers as if showing off. Sansa watches, tense, but does not back away. Arya is trying to scare her. That’s all. “I suffered in my own way, you know. I was blind for a while. I was stabbed in the stomach by a knife and nearly died. I still have the scar. I was knocked off my feet more times than I could count and I begged in the street. That was just in Bravos. That doesn’t count everything before. You’re not the only one who suffered.”

“I never said I was,” Sansa said. “But...the faces, Arya--”

“We used to play this game,” Arya continues on as if she doesn’t hear. “The game of faces. It’s simple: I ask you a question about yourself and you answer. If you fool me, you win. If I catch a lie, I win.

“I don’t want to play this game,” Sansa says. She just wants to talk to her sister and understand.

“I’ll let you ask first,” Arya says. “To show you how it works. Go on.”

Sansa doesn’t answer immediately. She thinks of what questions she most wants to ask. If Arya wants to play this game, then she’ll play too. As long as she can get the truth.

“What are the faces?” she asks.

“They can turn me into someone else,” Arya said. “It’s important sometimes...to be someone else. The world is cruel to little girls. No one takes them seriously. They laugh. The jeer. They hurt them. I always wanted to be something more than the girl that I was. I wanted to be a knight like father and rush into battle. With a face I can be that. I can be whatever I want in the world.” Arya watches Sansa carefully, and Sansa can feel her gaze boring right through her. “My turn. If I wanted to be a knight, what did you want to be?

“A lady like mother,” Sansa says. “Maybe even a queen.”

“Not maybe,” Arya says. “You always dreamed of being a queen.”

“Yes. I did. Many girls did,” Sansa says. Arya opens her mouth to reply but Sansa cuts her off. “It’s my turn to ask a question.”

Arya pauses and nods once in acknowledgement.

Sansa takes a deep breath. “How many people have you killed?”

“I’m not sure actually,” Arya murmurs. “I haven’t kept track of the number. More than ten. Less than fifty. It starts to blur together.” She looks up. “My turn. Why do you want to be queen? Why is having power so important to you?”

“I never said it was.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Sansa pauses to collect her thoughts. She knows better than to lie to Arya. Her sister is better at this game than she is.

“You said it yourself. No one takes little girls seriously,” Sansa says. “They hurt them. They push them around. They beat them. They rape them. I spent too much time being passed between people with more power. As a trophy, as a tool, as a key to the north. When you have power...they can’t hurt you anymore. I want to be safe. That’s all. I just want to be safe and have control over my own future.” She lifts her chin. She is growing more confident in this game. “My turn. Why didn’t you come home sooner?”

Arya looks away for a moment. “Because I thought everyone at home was dead. I thought home was no longer ours. After mother and Robb died, I figured there was no place left for Arya Stark. So I went to Essos to learn to kill. If I couldn’t find my family again...I would avenge them.” She glances back at Sansa. “Why is Littlefinger still allowed to walk beside you?”

This question brings a long silence to the room. Sansa isn’t even quite sure of the answer, and it is painful to find the truth of it in her heart.

“Because he saved me from King’s Landing. And part of me feels...I still owe him for that,” she murmurs.

Arya raises her eyebrow. “And?”

“And... I’m afraid that I cannot stand without him.” The truth is painful as it leaves her. But she knows it is true. Lord Baelish believes he made her and though she knows it isn’t true...part of her still doubts. She will always doubt herself at least a little bit...because of the stupid girl she used to be. “A part of me says...that I’ve only gotten this far with his council and help. So I’m foolish to think I can stand on my own.”

Arya nods once, accepting the answer. But the game isn’t over yet and Sansa has one more question. The one she is most afraid to ask.

“It’s my turn.”

“Go ahead then,” Arya murmurs.

Sansa asks before she loses her nerve. “Why do you hate me?”

The question hangs in the air for a long time. A rock plunged into deep water. Sansa can almost hear her heartbeat in the silence. And Arya’s face is a mask she can’t read.

“You were everything I wasn’t,” Arya says. “The best lady in the world. So graceful and loved by all. And I was the outcast.” She steps forward, still holding the dagger. “Maybe I was jealous. Maybe all along I looked at you and wished...wished that I could step into your shoes and see what it was like. Wished that I could wear your pretty dresses and pretty face.”

For a moment, Sansa looks at the knife. For a moment, she believes Arya. But then...her wits return to her. She straightens and looks down at Arya.

“Liar.”

Arya smiles and Sansa knows she is right. Arya never wanted to be a lady. And she never truly hated Sansa. It is a relief to be sure of that.

Arya flips the dagger in hand and gives it to Sansa. Slowly, Sansa accepts. For a long while the silence lingers. The game is at its end.

“You know what we have to do?” Arya asks.

“Yes,” Sansa murmurs.

“What _you_ have to do?” Arya looks up at her and Sansa nods once. “Good. Because it has to be you.”

“I know.” She looks down at the dagger in her hand. “But first...we need to speak to Bran.”

**Author's Note:**

> I think so many of the problems could have been solved by having Sansa participate more actively in the game of faces. So this was cathartic to write. Let me know in the comments how I did!


End file.
